Angel of Smoky Hollow

by Barbara McMahon

  “This is amazing,” she said.

  He swung around. “What are you doing here?”

  She kept walking. “This is your whittling? What an understatement. It’s amazing.” Reaching out she touched the statue, marveling at the satin finish so smooth beneath her fingertips.

  She knew he watched her. When she looked up, she met his gaze. “These are beautiful!”

  “Thanks.”

  She walked along the finished pieces, reaching out to touch, unable to help herself. The rich colors in the wood, the tones and shadows and highlights were startling in their clarity and highlighted the skill of the carver for each piece. Time and again she was drawn back to the mother-and-children piece.

  “Will this be sold in an art gallery?” she asked.

  “Hope so. I have contacts to several across the South.”

  “This is how you make your living, not construction or whittling. These are amazing.”

  She walked over to the piece he was working on. “What’s this going to be?”

  “Woman on the precipice,” he said.

  She could see the vague shape already chiseled from the wood. A bluff, a bank of trees growing back from the edge and on the edge the figure that was rough cut at best.

  “Can I watch you work?” she asked, fascinated by the amazing talent he had. She had never suspected.

  “Pretty boring. I shave small bits off, see how it looks, do more,” he said, looking back at the work in progress.

  “How long will this take to finish?” She walked around it looking at it from all angles. She wouldn’t have the first clue on how to do something like this. She looked at Kirk. He looked back, the same man who had teased her at the fair, had shared corn dogs and held her on the Ferris wheel when he’d rocked the car causing her to squeal in mock alarm.

  Her heart caught in her throat. The same man who had confused her more than anyone with their goodbye kiss earlier.

  “Several weeks,” he said.

  Angelica looked around and spotted a stool. She brought it closer and sat on it. “Ignore me.” She kept her eyes on the wood, hoping he’d let her stay. She was fascinated this virile man did such delicate work. Glancing at the mother again she noted the serene look about the face, even without minute details. It could be any mother. Perhaps that added to the appeal.

  She couldn’t wait to see how he finished this piece.

  Once he started it was obvious he could ignore her and focus on the work. She watched him, fascinated as his large hands did such precision work. The tools looked tiny, the gouging and chiseling precise and controlled. His hands were scarred. She thought from construction. Now she knew it was more likely from slips from the chisel or other tools. The patience and care he took removing bits of wood seemed ageless. If she were doing it, she’d rush through to completion. But it wouldn’t be as amazing as Kirk’s art pieces were.

  The only sound was the soft tap of the hammer against the chisel. He changed to a gouge, worked some with that. Then took a piece of sandpaper and rubbed lightly, studying the area from several different angles. She could almost see the tree take shape, the detail on the leaves and branches startling. If he did that with each tree blocked out, no wonder it took weeks to complete. But it would be exquisite when finished.

  “Where did you get the idea?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “From you.”

  “Me?” Angelica frowned. “I’ve never stood on the edge of a cliff.”

  “You’re on one right now, if you think about it. Behind you is the forest of your past. Ahead, nothing familiar, nothing normal. You’re poised on the brink. Will you take a step out in faith and change your life? Or will you hesitate, then turn and reenter the forest of familiar?”

  She stared at it a long moment. “What do you think?” she asked. Could she step out and find new fulfillment in life? Or was she destined to stay on the path her parents had laid out?

  “You have accomplished great things for a woman your age. I think you’ll go back to the familiar.”

  She wasn’t sure if she liked that idea or not. On the other hand, this was a graphic example of what could happen if she went forward—there would be a drop and splat and she’d be done.

  Kirk wondered what she’d say to his assessment. Came from years of experience. There were only a few hearty souls who found the happiness in life in this small town. Those who farmed the land and passed it down from generation to generation, like Ben and Carrie. Or those who had seen what the rest of the world had to offer and selected this town, like he had and Webb Francis.

  He didn’t judge her. He wanted her to be happy and suspected the familiar route was the best way for her to go. This visit was merely a slight detour in her life’s road. One she might remember for years, but wouldn’t significantly alter anything.

  “Were you ever on a precipice?” she asked.

  “Sure, everyone goes through that stage, don’t you think?” He picked up a wide flat blade and worked some on the cliff. It could be chunky to offer a way down and onward. It should be smooth in some areas to show the unknown, the possible danger of a sheer fall.

  “And what did you choose?” she asked.

  “Not the familiar or I’d be a farmer like my granddad. But enough of the familiar to settle in the town I grew up in. To build a community. To know my neighbors and friends.”

  “Yet you touch the outside world with your art,” she said.

  “I’m not a hermit. I travel sometimes. But I’m always glad to return home. I’ve seen things I wished I hadn’t when I was in the army. Been places no one else in town has been after that. And seen sights like no others where it grabs you by the throat and make you thank God for the opportunity to see one of His wonders.”

  “Yet you come back here.”

  “Time and again,” he said, nodding.

  “Alice wanted more. Does that mean you want less?” she asked.

  He stopped working, putting down his tools. “How is it wanting less to be happy here?”

  “I don’t know. All my life I’ve heard go to New York, make it big.”

  “And are you happy?”

  She thought a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You know that. It’s why I’m here, trying to learn something new, see what else is out there.”

  He reached for her and drew her to her feet, folding her into his arms. “Do you have a special male friend, Angel?”

  She shook her head, her eyes unable to look away. Her heart raced. Her fingers grabbed hold of his shirt, feeling the warmth from his chest, the heat from his eyes. “People who are happy here have someone special in their lives. They are building family. Connecting with neighbors and finding satisfaction in the work they do and the leisure activities they choose.”

  She swallowed, feeling inept and unsure.

  “Have you ever had a special male friend?” he asked softly, resting his forehead on hers. All she could see was Kirk’s dark eyes, gazing deeply into hers. Slowly she shook her head, moving both of them. She felt surrounded by heat, rising desire, wishing he’d stop talking and kiss her. It was scary and thrilling. For this moment, she did feel on the edge of a precipice. Would his kiss send her soaring, or have her fall flat on her face?

  So slowly she thought she’d never stand it, he lifted his face then leaned closer, giving her time to pull away if that was what she wanted. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her.

  Angelica closed her eyes and savored every aspect of the kiss, from the warm lips moving against hers, to the hard body cradling her, to the sensations that blotted out everything else but the two of them.

  The sensations were pure delight. She felt she was soaring. His lips moved again, teasing responses she didn’t know she could give. When he deepened the kiss, she clung, excitement swirling through her. She had never felt this mixture of exquisite delight and yearning desire for more. She pressed closer, wishing she could become part of Kirk, meld the two of them until they were one. Reveling in the
kiss, hoping it would never end, she gave herself up to the moment.

  When his mouth left hers to trail kisses across her cheeks, her arms moved to encircle his neck. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts. She could feel the long length of him bent to accommodate her shorter stature. Mostly she felt the trailing fire and ice his hands brought, pressing her closer, closer.

  He kissed her mouth again and again, kisses that inflamed her. The temperature rose several degrees as the heat they generated could have warmed a winter’s day.

  A moment later he rested his forehead against hers again. Slowly she opened her eyes, almost drowning in the deep chocolate brown of his. Her heart raced, her skin tingled, her soul soared.

  “You are one dangerous woman,” he said softly.

  Her knees were weak, her body lethargic. All she wanted to do was kiss him again and again. See where that might lead—as if she didn’t know.

  “Go home, Angel. Go to Webb Francis’s house tonight and back to New York tomorrow. This is not your place.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IF HE’D DUMPED a bucket of cold water over her he couldn’t have shocked her more. After kisses like that, he wanted her to leave?

  She pulled away and walked across to the door, trying to get control of her emotions. Disappointment and frustration warred with anger and pride. She couldn’t think. If she had a talent for words, she’d come up with some snappy reply that would put him in the same anguish she felt. Nothing came to mind, only the echo of his words. Go home. This is not your place.

  Go away from me, he might as well have shouted the words. She thought she might be falling in love with this complex mysterious man and he wanted her gone. How could she have read the signs so wrong?

  At the door she finally had enough courage to turn and glare at him. “I’m here until after the festival. I won’t burden you with my presence again. But I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready. So deal with it.”

  Once clear of the door, she ran across the lawn, hoping she wouldn’t stumble and fall on her face in the darkness. She ran up the steps and into the house, shutting the door just before tears welled in her eyes. She would not cry over the man. She hardly knew him. She’d met him such a short time ago. Never mind the feelings he engendered in her. He’d made his point very clear.

  Way to go, Devon, Kirk thought as he watched her leave. But it was that or succumb to the siren call she gave without even knowing it. He’d thought he’d fallen in love once, lost the woman to a way of life he didn’t want. In retrospect, he wondered how much he had loved Alice. Had it been companionship, friendship that had moved beyond high school? If he’d really loved her above all else, he’d have moved to Atlanta. If he’d offered her all she needed, she’d have insisted they stay together.

  He knew better than to take up with a woman who came from a different world. He liked living in Smoky Hollow. He liked his work, liked helping out, liked being with friends he’d known his entire life. Traveling when the mood struck, working on construction when needed, being near his crusty grandfather all made his life the way he wanted it.

  Clenching his fists, he looked around the studio. Would he ever see it again without picturing her sitting so still watching him in fascination as he carved? Without remembering the intoxication of her kisses, the feminine feel of her body, the fire that had swept through him with her pressed against him? God, he didn’t want to have feelings for Angelica. She’d leave—just like every other woman in his life. The men in his family just weren’t enough to keep women with them. His mother had wanted more. Alice had wanted more. How soon before Angelica knew he wasn’t enough for her and wanted more? Better to make a clean cut now than drag out the hope for her to stay when he knew that would be impossible.

  He hoped he had not wrecked his future peace of mind by giving in to temptation and kissing her until he scarcely remembered his own name. He took a deep breath, still smelling the fragrance of her unique scent. He closed his eyes, still feeling the imprint of her soft curves against his harder frame. Hearing the catch in her breathing when she discovered the passion that he suspected she’d never tapped before.

  She was some innocent young woman who should be wined and dined by men of her own background. Taken to restaurants and the theater in New York, not some country fair and music festival.

  Snapping open his eyes, he moved to the carving. The sooner he set to forgetting Angelica Cannon, the better he’d be.

  He’d been cruel to protect himself. She was dabbling in a way of life vastly different from her own. She was not contemplating a move to Smoky Hollow, she had said over and over she was returning to her life at the end of August. He only had a month to get through. A month to ignore the next-door neighbor and concentrate on the sculpture.

  Of her. No matter how he tried to pretend it was anything else, he’d admitted the truth earlier. This was her. When he carved the face, it would be Angel’s. When he thought about the symbolism, it would be of her life, her summer in Kentucky. Could he capture the yearning for something new mixed with the fate of returning to the familiar? Could he make the impossible decision clear on a face that would be scarcely an inch high?

  Could he, and not wish for a different outcome every second he worked on it?

  Disgusted with his own thoughts, he turned off the light and closed the door. He’d get something to eat and then get to bed at a halfway reasonable hour. If she stayed away, this infatuation would fade within days. He’d start tomorrow by visiting Webb Francis before he was discharged, and then spending the rest of the day in Bryceville. Time apart would be best. It was only another four weeks.

  Kirk got up early and went to see his grandfather before heading to Bryceville. Visiting hours at the hospital didn’t start until ten, so he might as well see what he could do at the farm before going to see Webb Francis.

  It was barely dawn when he pulled into the farmyard. Lights were on in the kitchen, and he knew he’d be in time for breakfast. Beat eating alone this morning.

  “Didn’t expect to see you,” his grandfather said when he entered.

  “I’m going to Bryceville later, thought I’d swing by here and see what you needed before I left.”

  “Seeing Webb Francis?”

  “He’s supposed to be discharged tomorrow. Wanted to catch him before he goes to Betsy’s.”

  Once breakfast was on the table Hiram looked at Kirk. “Where’s that New York gal this morning?”

  “Home, I guess.”

  “Seemed a nice enough woman.”

  Kirk nodded. He’d come here to escape thoughts of Angelica, he didn’t want a discussion with his grandfather about her.

  “Heard her play?”

  “No. But according to Webb Francis, she must be good. Told you she’s working with a couple of kids from town. Sam plans to play in the festival. Angelica does, too.”

  “Ummm.”

  “Want to go this year?” Kirk knew his grandfather didn’t attend the music festivals and hadn’t in two decades, no matter how much Webb Francis and others pressed him to attend.

  “Might.”

  Kirk looked at him. “Say again?”

  “I said I might go. Why look so surprised, I used to go all the time.”

  “True. You going to sing?”

  “Nope. Just might go to hear that gal play the fiddle. If she’s so good, might be worth hearing. Listen to her play sometime and tell me.”

  “Ask her to play for you,” Kirk said. His plan was to avoid Angelica as much as he could. He did not want to get deeper involved. Even though, for a split second, he welcomed the suggestion as a way to see her again. Not for himself, but for his grandfather.

  “She’s staying next door to you, be neighborly and go listen to her play.”

  Coming to breakfast had been a mistake. Now he either had to sound like an idiot with his reasons for not wanting to listen to her play, or go and be caught up in that fascinated attraction.

  �
��Gonna replace the back fence around the hog pen soon. Some of the boards are getting too splintered to hold up. Don’t want them fool hogs out roaming the countryside,” Hiram said.

  Kirk nodded, glad the topic of conversation changed. “I’ll give you a hand. When were you thinking?”

  “Next week? Maybe.”

  “Want me to pick up the wood?”

  The two of them discussed the project and once breakfast was over went out to the fence to determine what to replace and how long it might take.

  It was midafternoon by the time Kirk drove into his driveway. He’d had a good visit with Webb Francis and done some shopping in Bryceville. He’d also run by the lumber yard and ordered the wood to repair the fence. He’d pick it up next week in his truck.

  Once again he noticed the ragged lawn in front of Webb Francis’s house. His own could use a cutting as well. It was hot, but not that hot. He changed into old clothes, drank a couple of glasses of water and then went to mow his and his neighbor’s lawn.

  Having mowed his lawn a couple of weeks ago, it was easy enough to get it taken care of. Webb Francis’s was another matter. The tall grass took more effort to mow. After the first dozen or so passes across the width of the lawn, he grew hotter with each step. Some of the yard was in shade, but most was in full sun this time of day. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto a bush, pushing the old power mower back and forth. At this rate, it would be dark before he finished. He should have tackled it earlier.

  Sam and Teresa Ann came onto the porch, followed by Angelica. Kirk caught sight of them and waved, not pausing in his task.

  The kids each had a glass in hand watching him as they drank. He could use a glass of iced tea right about now. But didn’t want to stop work to go make some. One-third down, another two-thirds to go. If he didn’t finish now, he’d have to plan on it tomorrow. Cutting grass wasn’t his favorite activity. Might as well finish now.